


A Night in the Life of Onyx

by SamanthaSeraphimandI



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Longing, Multi, harlots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 04:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17842121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaSeraphimandI/pseuds/SamanthaSeraphimandI
Summary: On Cybertron, a metallic metropolis planet, bots of thousands of different kinds bustle about their daily lives. In Kaon, however, the Transformers are nocturnal. Largely monochromatic, with red, yellow, or orange optics, with pointed primary denta, the average citizen of Kaon is an imposing sight. Wrecked with crime, gladiator pits, prostitution, and Sparkling trafficking, Kaon has the highest death rate for Enforcers of any city on Cybertron. Lost in the dark and mire of his home city, orphaned (now adult) Onyx struggles to keep himself and his brother, Ricochet well fueled and safe.





	A Night in the Life of Onyx

Onyx’s systems whirred to life as the Cybertronian mech came into the bounds of his conscious mind. Like his home city of stone and metal alloy, the robotic being known as Onyx was made partially of an inexplicably organic substance. As the city’s inhabitants brought its glistening spires and grimy alleys to life, so did Onyx’s brightly glowing Spark bring his body of metal alloy to life. It was his core, an unmistakable and unique phantom of being. Entwined with the higher functions of his processor, the Spark provided intuition, self-knowledge, morality, and life itself.

Without it, he was nothing.

Merely a machine, programed to do one thing; to strut about, sure of its own importance. Onyx, sadly, felt that he had done plenty of strutting. For one thing, he was of a finely-honed design, quite to be admired. Sleek, well-proportioned, and jet-black with bright green optical sensors. Complete with charismatic grin, he was quite the specimen.

Right now, however, he felt like nothing. And less than nothing.

Onyx rolled quietly out of the coffin-like berth he had been recharging his systems in. Despite the timer on its side’s claim that he had been inside it for over twelve hours, he still felt…drained. Perched in a sitting position on its side, Onyx rested his head in his servos. His taste receptors still felt the acidic tang of stale energon, curdled on his equivalent of a tongue. Once life-giving, the high grade energon he had consumed the solar cycle before felt heavy as lead in his fueltank, and because of the sheer amount he had attempted to consume, not all of it had been processed by his ‘digestive tract’ before it could go bad.

Besides that, his circuitry was spazzing with phantom pains; warnings from pain receptors the functions of which were compromised by the excess energy overloading his systems. In part, that had been because of the aforementioned high grade.

But Onyx’s discomfort was not simply because he had a hangover, or because he had had ‘a bad night’ or both of the above.

It was because of the slim shape in the darkness behind him. Because of the still visible seams on his front; the finger-sized dents and the scratches on his immaculate black finish. Because of what he’d done for half of those twelve hours spent ‘in rest.’

_Not again. Not again; not after what he’d said…He’d promised…Richochet…Minerette…Penumbra…_

Onyx hid his face from the imaginary bots watching him. Shame twisted his Spark. Guilt like a physical weight was making him hunch over, clutching at his aching processor. He was such a fool. A worthless, selfish _fool_.

Onyx stared out the window opposite his berth. Darkness still shrouded the buildings across the grimy street, music still banged onward, blaring lights cast a reddish tinge on his face. Why had he allowed Turnabout to bring him here? ‘A drink’, he’d said. Nothing more.

And he’d been doing well, until someone had challenged him to a contest. Within half an hour, his opponent was out cold. All was well, until that femme had come…

Until he had felt her standing behind him.

Until she had slid the tips of her slim digits under the plating of his shoulders and neck…

Until he had felt the pull of her Spark, and how similar it was to Penumbra’s…how powerful and incessant.

Onyx grimaced as he remembered the other bot’s cat calls and whistles. Their encouraging grins and laughter as she led him away…

And he had let her. This femme he barely knew…

Primus, did he ever know her name? Her Primus fragging _name_?!!

Onyx groaned and clutched at his helm again. He had known, even in his groggy state, that she was not Penumbra. That he was deluding himself into thinking that that simpering whore was anything _like_ Penumbra.

No.

He had known.

And he had let it happen anyway. He had let her lead him up here, let her pull him into this berth with her, imagining that _she_ was Penumbra. Because one thing he _did_ know was that he would never be worthy of Penumbra. She would never have him.

What he had done last night had proved that.


End file.
